A New Generation: The 86th Hunger Games
by MollieMarch
Summary: After Katniss and Peeta won The 74th Hunger Games, they avoided a rebellion by convincing the districts they held up those nightlock berries out of love, not rebellion. The mysterious Foxface from District 5 will always be remembered. This is the story of her sixteen year old niece Maeve Camboil, twelve years later at The 86th Hunger Games.
1. Chapter 1

**Hi! This story will be from the point of view of Maeve Camboil, who is "Foxface's" niece. I can't wait to continue this story and will update as soon as possible. Make sure to review and tell me what you think so far! And I do not own "The Hunger Games."**

Chapter 1

_Rap a tap tap, rap a tap tap. _I listen to the familiar pattern of my feet moving against the wooden floor. _Rap a tap tap, rap a tap tap_. I keep the pattern consistent never missing a beat as I sit at the edge of my bed.

It's only 6:00 AM. Most of Five is usually still sound asleep. But since it's reaping day my guess is half the district is already up. Some anxious children may have never gone to sleep. Their bloodshot eyes up and ready or not ready for the day that is to come. The twelve year olds feeling a new weight on their shoulder of being eligible for the reapings. The eighteen year olds waiting to see if they can lift that weight off their shoulder, and live a long happy, District 5 life.

Than there's me. The odds are most likely in my favor. Why should I be picked? Why shouldn't I? I'm no different than the plain looking girls from District 5 who try to look presentable when they realize they have been sent to their death. Anybody who doesn't get picked thinks those girls are just born unlucky. Nobody ever actually thinks of those girls as human. They have families. Just that morning they were thinking that they're going to survive the reapings. Live the perfect District 5 life.

Sure the odds are in my favor. I only have four slips in because although I'm sixteen thankfully I've had no need to sign up for tesserae. But still that nagging voice in the back of my head can't help but think that I could be reaped.

I could be that girl who saves the eighteen year olds and twelve year olds from their burdens. So everybody else can continue their lives. Watch me die on a television screen in the capitol as if that's where I always belonged. As if I belonged to the capital and my mere existence was to save the other normal people of District 5 for a year. Than they could all move along and forget about me.

Forgettable. That's all I can say for District 5. We're not a career district like 1, 2, or 4. Not a district of extreme poverty like 10, 11, and 12. Our industry isn't even that interesting like 3 which invents and makes technology for the capital. We're the power plant district. Very entertaining.

It sounds kind of crazy because you would think that being in the top half of the districts would mean the odds are in our favor in the games, but I never really thought that way at all.

There's the career districts, with the snarky tributes that volunteer themselves into their games knowing how to kill other children seventy different ways with a knife at age four. But what most people forget are the tributes from some of the lower districts. If there not too weak from hunger they can be brutal tributes in the games. Sometimes you can even see that utter loathing of the capital in their sunken eyes. The strongest of them have lean muscular builds, especially the ones from 11, from working day and night in their industries.

They can also deal with hunger like no other tribute. They thrive off of hunger. Hunger keeps them motivated to fend for themselves like they've had to all their lives. Instead hunger makes the careers whiny and weakened.

Then there's the middle districts like 5, 6, and even 3. Too normal. I think bitterly. We have no sense of what to do with a weapon, and although some of us don't live very comfortably it's nothing like living in one of the districts of poverty.

After around a half an hour tapping my feet numb I manage to peel myself off of my rock solid mattress. I creep down the stairs careful not to wake my mother or little sister. I am in no way hungry but since all I want is for today to feel as possibly normal as it can be, I solemnly cook myself some sausage and scrambled eggs. I also hope this wakes my mother up. It is the opposite of pleasant to wake my mother up on reaping day. She tosses and turns in hysterics tears streaming down her face as strange animal like sobs come out of her gasping mouth.

It's actually quite terrifying to see my normally cheerful mother suffering from so much despair. Though I understand. When I was just five years old my mother's fifteen year old sister went into the seventy fourth hunger games. Eve Camboil. That was her name. I don't remember much at all about her but I've listened to countless stories about her and seen a few pictures of her. We have some resemblance. Well actually, she resembles me the most out of everybody else in my family.

We have the same coppery red hair, ivory skin, and she has the same pointy features that I have. I also share my small bow shaped lips with her.

Nobody likes to talk about Eve much. In District 5 if you knew fallen tribute from the games you try to forget about them as much as possible. Especially my otherwise perfect family. Eve is that smudge on a record.

It's mostly my dad who becomes very flustered at the mention of her. He probably believes that if we silence that thought of her throughout the house that somehow my mother will forget she existed. Forget that nagging, painful memory of her.

But sometimes my mother likes to tell stories about her. How she was quiet and thoughtful like me, but less gentle. How Eve would chatter about the problems with the capital at meal times and their mother would always shush her in fear of any peacekeepers hearing them.

Every once in awhile my mother might speak of Eve's games. That's extremely rare, but sometimes it will come up. Eve made it into the top five, came in fourth actually. When I first heard this I was stunned. I still try to picture the way my mother must've felt with Eve in the games. With Eve being in the top four I can imagine my mother as a bundle of hope.

But once Eve dies from the poisonous nightlock berries she ate, I picture my mother's hope being crippled. Watching her dead and then seeing the other tributes carry on and be victorious. That's all you get with the games. One small moment to watch them die, and then they're gone. No caring for them through illness. No reading books and singing songs to them until they die of old age. Just one glimpse of them dieing of some painful tragedy, or another kid killing them. With the smallest turn of events your loved one could be killing that same blonde headed, rosy cheeked child. And the sad part is, you would be relieved if they killed instead of were killed. After all that's surviving the games isn't it? No. To me nobody wins The Hunger Games. There has to be one "victor" to please the blood thirsty, wide eyed capital fans. But once you kill in the games, you're just as a good as dead.

I hear the old wooden staircase of our house creek and bend at the footsteps of someone coming down the steps. I expect to see my dad or younger sister coming down the stairs, but instead I see my mother. Her skin is a paler shade of white than it usually is, and her expression is hard and cold.

Finally I break the uneasy silence between us. "Good morning mother." My voice comes out soft and whispery.

My mother just nods and sits next to me at the table. After about ten minutes or so of my mother and I just staring at plates full with the breakfast we most likely won't eat, my younger sister Lilian comes down the stairs. "What's for breakfast, Maeve?" She says offering a weak smile. Lilian is only eleven and doesn't have to worry about the reapings, but she senses the tension just as much as everyone else on reaping days.

"Have some sausage and eggs Lil." I say fixing her a plate. She sits down with us, but eats cautiously noticing she's the only one eating. In attempt to make today feel as normal as possible I cut up the eggs and eat small bites at a time.

Soon my father joins us and we're all sitting at the table. My father never talks much and as usual he eats his breakfast in silence. But today with a more solemn look on his face.

When we're all done with breakfast I offer to clean up the table, and Lilian helps me as usual. When we're washing the dishes Lilian looks at me with her clear blue eyes. It's very rare for somebody in District 5 to have blue eyes. When we were little I used to call her sparkle because she looks like a girl from District 1, with her blue eyes and hair that's lighter than anybody elses in the family.

"Next year if your reaped, should I volunteer?" She asks me. I am taken aback by the strange question. "No, of course not." I say but still thinking about what she said. "But you would volunteer for me, wouldn't you." She says her eyes looking more conflicted, and her tone sturdy. "That's not the same." I say in a hushed voice.

Lilian puts the dish down. "Why not?" She asks. "Lilian I'm much older than you and if I were to volunteer for you it would be out of love, and the fact that there would be a better chance of one of us coming home if it were me instead of you." I explain. Lilian gets her stubbornness from me, and I can tell she is still not convinced. "No one under the age of fourteen wins the games Lil. Especially not from District 5. Don't ever volunteer. For anyone." My gaze is now serious. Lilian just nods and I can tell she understands. Good. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I ever got reaped and Lilian volunteered for me.

By the time we're ready to go to the reaping Lilian and I have put on our nice clothes. Lilian looks cute and innocent with her straight blonde hair and bangs pulled neatly from her face into a bow. Her dress is pale pink bringing out the rosy pink color in her round cheeks. When I look at the two of us in the mirror we look almost nothing a like. My face is angular and pointed with small features. My red hair is thick and wavy and is only half pulled from my face, and my eyes are a dark hazel that looks almost brown.

As we walk to the town square I tug nervously at my blue cotton dress. I try to convince myself that it is impossible for me to be picked. After all my name is only in the bowl four times. But there will always by that nagging voice in the back of my head. _So what. Anything is possible._ I think to myself. _Eve had her name in the bowl only three times when she got reaped._ At that thought I stop walking for a second and feel stricken with panic. But not long enough for anybody else to notice.

_Just keep walking._ I say in my head. _Don't get mom and Lil nervous as well._ If I were ever sent to The Hunger Games I can't imagine how mom would react. How it would defeat my sweet little sister's spirit. She still thinks of us as untouchable. Like there is no possibility of anything like that ever happening to us. That's why she even mentioned the thought of volunteering. She doesn't know. Like how my mother used to be.

As we approach the square my family says good bye and wishes me luck. My mother passes me a knowing glance before disappearing into the hectic crowd. I on the other hand get in line to be signed in, where they will take a little blood sample from all of us. I try not to look at the twelve year olds who are all being herded into their sections. I wince at the thought of Lilian being one of them next year. Or worse, when I'm too old to volunteer for her.

After being lost in my own nervous thoughts I join the rest of the sixteen year old girls. I spot my friend Clara in the crowd and wave at her, half smiling. Her anxious face turns into a warm smile when she sees me. Clara is one of the few girls that understands I'm not into the whole giddy teenage girl thing most girls are. I'm more quiet and shy. Clara knows when I feel like talking and making jokes, and when I just feel like standing next to her in silence. She's the kind of girl you feel happy when she's around you. Even on a day like the reapings she is still radiating good energy. Her fluffy dirty blonde shoulder length hair is neatly combed, Her cheeks are the same warm pink color as her full lips, and her petal pink dress shows off her itty bitty waist and round figure. I never understand why Clara is so positive on reaping day. I can't imagine her surviving even the first hour of the games. Clara is not very athletic or fast and couldn't hurt a fly. Much less kill a starving kid her age or younger. Thank goodness she has never taken out tesserae.

"It's okay." She says kindly as if reading my mind. "We'll both be okay." She repeats as if still trying to convince herself. Even Clara can't be entirely sure either of us won't get picked today. We both just stand in silence next to eachother. For some reason I find this comforting.

Some of the more wealthy girls like me, who have few slips in the bowl seem less anxious and chat quietly. The bony girls who come from the poorer families of District 5 who took out tesserae and added their names to the bowl to keep their families alive, stand quietly probably just waiting for this to be over. Some of them have more than twenty slips in the bowl.

This makes me feel a little better, because District 5 is about half and half when it comes to wealthy and poor, so I know my name being reaped is very unlikely. But then the image of my aunt comes to mind and I feel panic suffocating me once more.

Natasha Flanfer our escort this year takes the stage and all is silenced. She stands next to our mentors who look about as happy as we are to be here. Natasha has a sparkling lavender bob, that is longer in the front and on an angle gets shorter in the back. Her eyelashes are green and yellow and about four times as long as any normal person's.

"Hello everybody!" She says in her capitol accent while adjusting her cupcake looking pink and blue dress. "Welcome to The 86th annual Hunger Games!" She says grinning. This is Natasha's second year in District 5 and she seems to like being an escort here. She used to escort for District 8 which is a lot worse than us. We're no District 1, but District 5 still is the fourth richest district after District 4.

I tap my feet nervously on the solid ground while the mayor makes his speech and we watch the same video from the capitol we do every year. _Rap a tap tap, rap a tap tap._ I almost zone everything out until she says announces ladies first and walks over to the bowl. My attention immediately snaps forward as she dips her hand into the bowl.

The next sequence of events seem like a dream when she pulls out the slip and says "Maeve Camboil." It takes a second for me to register that she just called my name. All the other girls stare at me. The girls who never bothered to know me but just see me as some sort of loner. Well now they see me as the girl who was meant to die instead of them. I groan. Then I look at Clara who looks just as stunned as I am. She hugs me and whispers in my ear. "I'm sorry."

I walk forward not showing any expression on my face and trying to hide my shaking hands.

Then suddenly a voice from the crowd snaps me into reality. "Maeve no, Maeve!" My sister's voice rings out and I stop walking for a second.

Tears start to form behind my eyes, and I listen to her cries a second more before continuing to walk to the stage. I step up onto the stage carefully, and I see Natasha giving me a once over while grinning before she announces my name again. "Your female tribute Maeve Camboil from District 5!" I notice up close glitter covers her skin.

While she walks over to the male tribute bowl I feel the panic begin to settle in and long to tap my toes. But since every eye of Panem might as well be on me I decide against it. Everybody would just think I'm so anxious, plain District 5 girl who doesn't stand a chance. Even though that's true, I try to look strong and put together.

"Evan Ellkan." I look around trying to see who the male tribute is. Suddenly a boy with light brown hair and brown eyes steps out of the seventeen year olds section. _Well at least he's not twelve or thirteen._ I think to myself. Evan is tall and willowy. As he starts to walk to the stage I see a little boy who can't be older than six cry out for him. Evan just sighs and keeps on walking towards the stage.

He's fairly attractive if he weren't so plain and tired looking as well. By the looks of his scrawny frame, dirty hair, and sunken eyes he is from the poor side of District 5. Meaning he probably has taken out lots of tesserae. When I look at him he just looks defeated. Probably expected something like this would happen, being older and having taken out tesserae.

"Your male and female tributes from District 5, Maeve Camboil and Evan Ellkan!" Evan and I shake hands. I give him a weak smile since he seems pretty harmless, but he just stares into my eyes with his sunken, deep brown eyes. His face is emotionless and he seems to stare right through me. A shiver runs up my spine.

I look at the crowd of silent people that are before me. The people who once politely waved and smiled at me. The people who had daily conversations with me about who married who, or who opened a new shop in the district. These people now look at me like I'm already dead. Like they never knew me. Like by going near me they'll catch my pain and sorrow. I feel numb and tingly as the whole turn of events register. The 86th Hunger Games have begun. And I'm a tribute.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey, sorry the update took me so long but here is Chapter 2.**

Chapter 2

Quickly the Peacekeepers escort Evan and I into our rooms for goodbyes. Even as peacekeepers are grabbing us Evan continues to stare at me, for a split second he smiles a crooked half smile. A knot forms in my stomach. Already my district partner seems ready to kill me at moments notice. Who even is he? Do I know him? Should I know him?

I'm lost in my thoughts and almost forget I'm here to say goodbye to my family when suddenly my mom bursts through the door. She's already sobbing by the time I see her and she pulls my into a tight hug. Then almost immediately she pulls away and tries to stop crying. I can't help it, I feel tears streaming down my cheeks as well.

"You. Have. To. Come. Home." She says through choked sobs. I nod my head but the tears are starting to come down more steadily now. _This could be the last time I see my mom._ I think to myself. But I could never say to her.

She continues to cry but finally manages to half pull herself together. "Avoid the bloodbath and contact with all other tributes." She says. "That's how Eve survived so long." Then she gives my a complicated look that I can't quite read, and talks in a whispery low voice. "Try."

"Take this. For good luck." She's now weeping again but hands me a woven necklace with a pendant on it. When I look at the pendant closely I see it has an animal shape carved onto it with red fur.

"A fox." I say, still studying the creature.

"It was Eve's." She says. "But it will fit you too. With your red hair. And you're so clever." She reaches towards my and gently places the necklace around my neck, her warm hands smoothing back the loose strands of hair from my face. When I look into her sad, emerald eyes I feel a lump rise in my throat.

Eve. I hadn't thought about how my mother has already lost her sister and now has a good chance of losing me. A new kind of panic takes over. I am not only pressured to get back for my own life, but for the lives of my family.

Peace keepers come in and mother embraces me in a tight hug and kiss before she is escorted out. I feel helpless watching them just take one of the most important people in my life away from me, who I have a twenty three out of twenty four chance of not ever seeing again.

The room feels overbearing. Like the plush chair I'm sitting in is swallowing me whole. After about a minute or two of being left to think about everything that has happened, my dad comes in.

I can tell he's been crying, but at the moment he looks as if he's trying to hold it in for me. My stomach lurches. When he reaches me he hugs me closely and I can feel his hands shaking. "You have to stay alive," He says his voice weary and filled with worry.

"I know." I utter. Because it's true. If I was gone I don't know how my family would ever recover. Maybe my parents would fall into a depression. Or Lilian would never smile or throw her head back in carefree laughter again.

"I love you." He says. And for the next couple of minutes I just sit there in his arms. My dad is like me. He prefers silence to everything. Even though we don't say much, sometimes it's like we've had a full conversation just by sitting there. I guess everybody in my family is like that. Sometimes even Lilian will sit in silence at breakfast, deep in thought.

When the peace keepers take him away he cries and says he loves me, again. "I love you too." It takes a moment for me to realize that I'm crying again. But now I'm not just crying because everybody else is, or what's happening to me is everybody's worst nightmare. I finally realize what is happening. And I'm scared. I've seen The Hunger Games on television. When you die it's of some painful, brutal death. And if you don't die you're still injured or hurt by the end. And how do you live afterwards?

I still have my sister and possible clara to say goodbye to, so I just sit back into the big velvet chair. I'm not even in the capital yet, but I already feel as if everything in the room is larger and more in control than I am. That even the furniture is mocking me. I sigh loudly and start tapping my feet again in attempt to distract myself. _I guess I don't have to worry about going crazy if I survive The Hunger Games._ I think to myself. _I already am._

When Lilian enters the room her blue eyes are puffy and swollen, and her hair is disheveled. Something very rare for Lilian. She begins to cry in a way, that would make anybody in site's heart break.

In attempt to soothe her I walk over and embrace her. "It's okay." I whisper into her ear. "You have to try." Her voice wavers and she looks up at me. "You have to try to win. You can do it. Your smart."

"I will." I say. And I will. Atleast I am smart. In fact I might even be one of the smartest kids in District 5. _But so was Eve._ The nagging voice in the back of my head that is now giving me a headache says.

I'll have to start thinking of my strategy. _My strategy for a game where kids kill each other._ I think. I've always been good with games and strategies. But never anything where my life or anyone else's was on the line.

When they take Lilian away I can't hold it together anymore. My ears are ringing and I feel like my whole heart is crumpling into a shriveled ball. Even though the heart has nothing to do with how you feel, it's the brain. But I can't think logically, all I can do is be a tribute. Small. Scared. Weak. And treated like an animal.

Lilian cries for me as they drag her out of the room and all I can think about is how horrible this. How anyone could ever think about creating this. How many lives have been ruined. Probably over one thousand and five hundred kid have died from these games. Think of all the family members who have suffered from depression or god knows what.

All I can do is collapse. I feel numb and wish I could just not move. What would happen if I just didn't move? They would have to drag me to the capital. Maybe I can demonstrate what this actually does to kids and how awful it is by appearing completely mortified by everything. Then when they put me on my plate and the games begin I won't move, I'll be the first to die in the blood bath, and maybe, just maybe, the capital might feel the smallest bit sorry for me.

But that's not an option for anyone. Because most kids who go into the games feels the smallest bit of hope. Everyone imagines themselves emerging from the games untouched and ready to see their families again.

I close my eyes. I'm not asleep, but don't feel in a totally awake state. It feels good. Almost numb like nothing can bother me. Maybe this is as close to sleep as I'll ever get from now until the games. I must be like this for only a minute or two because soon enough I hear somebody burst through the door.

Startled, I look up and see Clara. _Of course she would say good bye to me._ I think to myself. She runs towards me and hugs me like she did when my name was reaped. "How did this happen?" She says.

The question catches me off gaurd. Nobody has really questioned the probability of me getting picked since the reapings. "I don't know." I respond quietly. Though she has a point, how did this happen? Of all the girls in District 5 who had their name in the bowl, 10, 20, 30, or even 50 times, how did I get picked? After all I only had my name in their four times. Some twelve year olds have their name in the bowl more than me. _The odds are already not in my favor._ I think to myself.

Clara looks at me with concern. "Your tough, right? You can do this. You can do this. You have to do this." She stares at me with intent. I know she's trying to motivate me but I don't feel like being motivated. I don't feel like being tough. I feel like going to my room, sitting on my bed for hours and tapping my feet against the hardwood floor. I definitely don't feel like killing kids. Then again, does one ever feel like killing kids? Well I guess that's why the career tributes volunteer in the first place.

When I look at her I see her eyes are now fixed on me, expecting me to say something. "I just want you to know that you've been a really great friend, and no matter what happens, you should be happy." I say, slightly awkward. It feels a little sappy, but I don't want to leave anything with her open.

"Thanks." She says with a shaky voice. I know she is about to cry but doesn't want to make me feel uncomfortable. We stand in silence. The kind of silence that I need desperately right now. Now that I think about it, all the people in my life are mostly silent around me. Has it always been this way? Maybe I won't ever truly learn all the little details and secrets around the people around me.

Suddenly I feel new thoughts coming to mind. If I die, how much will I miss? I would miss Lilian's wedding to the richest and nicest guy in District 5. Both of them a young, gorgeous couple that the whole District is feverishly jealous of. I would miss the moments with her first born child. I close my eyes and picture a pudgy, rosy cheeked girl with the striking white blonde hair she'll inherit from my sister. I picture everyone growing up without me. Everybody being successful, and healthy. Everybody being lucky. Nobody going to The Hunger Games.

I've only done so much. In fact I've done nothing. Never left the town. Never been a success. Never had power. I've never even kissed a boy. Why do I have to miss out on everything? Why was my life chosen to be a waste? One of the variables in an experiment that had to be removed.

I'm better than them. I'm better than any other boy or girl in my school. I may not be as friendly, or social. But I'm more worthy of a successful life. I'm smart. Smarter than any other of the sheep like kids who stood before me at the reaping. Why should I have to prove myself? Sacrifice my life for my stupid district, who has done close to nothing for me. I've never even been acknowledged for how brilliant I am. And I know I am. I can understand and figure things out that other boneheaded kids would never dream of.

The rage is boiling in my stomach and creeping up my throat. I break the silence between me and Clara by gasping out a small scream. She looks at me startled, but I don't care. Why should I? My life is over. I could be dead in a week.

I don't even notice that I'm sobbing hysterically until I see Clara's mortified face. "It's okay." She softly whispers. But I can't stop. I sob until the peacekeepers come and take Clara away. It registers that she is leaving and I will never see her again, and for one second I stop sobbing and hug her closely. I don't think that's ever happened before. Usually I'm not one to embrace or be affectionate toward other people.

Clara's expression softens and I see a couple tears fall off her cheeks. "Good bye, for now." She says with a soothingly sweet voice. "Good bye." I utter, but my voice is hoarse from all the crying.

When they take her away I don't feel like crying anymore. If they've just taken away all the people in my life that I've ever cared about, possibly for good, what am I now?

I feel empty and my expression is like stone. The tears that fell down my face are dry. All I feel is the tingly salt that lingers on my skin, reminding me of why I was crying. Of what was happening. Reminding me that this is it. If I want to see those people again I'm going to have to fight for it.

**Okay hope you enjoyed and thank you for reading! I will try to update in around a week to ten days. Let me know how you think this story is going in the reviews.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Okay! Here is Chapter 3, hope you enjoy.**

Chapter 3

The peacekeepers escort us to an all black car that is going to take us to our train to the capital. At Least we'll ride to our death in style.

In the car you can tell Evan has been crying by his puffy eyes. Not that I look any better. He is as emotionless as me the whole ride, and for once the silence irritates me. Like I'm just itching for somebody to say something. I realize I'm longing for specifically Clara or Lilian to say something. But I might not hear any of their voices again. This realization brings tears to my eyes, but I don't let them fall down my cheeks. Instead my eyes are just glassy and my expression solemn.

In attempt to entertain myself I study Evan. _Have I seen him at school? _I wonder. But there are a couple of schools in District five because we have decent amount of people.

I must be staring at him for at least five minutes, because soon the car comes to a halt. I gasp from the shock. The realization that the train we're about to get on is going to take me to the capital gives me a shot of panic. _This is really happening._ I think, my breath now coming out in choppy waves. _I'm going to the capital. _My hands shake furiously. _I'm leaving District 5._

When I look back at Evan I can see his eyes are fixed on me. For a moment our gazes meet. He looks at me puzzled. _Great, my district partner now probably thinks I have fear of trains._ I think with a scowl on my face. I need to start appearing more tough and mature. Or do I? To be honest I haven't really given much thought to how I want to come across. After all plenty of girls play up the "I'm weak" strategy and then show off their master skills when it comes down to the last few people in the games.

But that plan just doesn't seem right for me. Usually it would work for girls from District 4, 7, or 11 because they might actually have some prior training with a weapon. This way they can fake their skills during training and because they don't need to train. It would probably be a good idea for me to train. I'm not exactly handy with any sort of weapon yet.

I guess I'll just try to blend in. Not very hard for a District 5 girl. After all, all eyes will be on Districts 1, 2, and 4. I wonder how ruthless the careers are going to be this year. Suddenly I'm itching to see who my opponents are. If I'm going to win this I'll need to pay attention to everything they do. Only when you know your opponents weaknesses can you truly defeat them. My mother used to tell me this every time we'd play the dusty old board games that generations of our family had owned.

My mother was good at the games. She wasn't as much of a natural as I was, but she still had a few tricks up her sleeve. When I was younger I'd get frustrated when she'd win, but then she would only smile and say in time I'd be too clever for her. It's true. By the time I was twelve there wasn't a game that I hadn't analyzed and mastered.

At the thought of board games, I think of the older memories woven in. Memories from more than ten years ago. Memories with Eve in them. I remember excitedly watching her play my mother. Eve was only around how old I am now but she had always been better than my mother. I can still picture them sitting on the living room floor. Eve's hair brushed back into a perfect ponytail, with a quiver of a smile on her lips as she swiftly won each game.

_I wonder what strategy Eve used when she was in her Hunger Games._ I began to wonder. After all it must've some what worked, considering the fact she'd made it so far. _What could've been flawed in her plan?_

When Evan and I step onto the train I feel overwhelmed by how elaborate it is. Natasha looks at us eagerly as if expecting us to jump and down with joy that the train we're being sent to our death in is at least stylishly decorated. Instead I just scan the train squinting my eyes, and then stare at her with complete concentration. Just to make her feel uncomfortable. When she turns her head away looking a little distraught and confused, I smile. I like to win.

"Well, than." Her voice is so high it make me flinch. "What is wrong with you district kids? Don't you appreciate how beautiful this is? You should. This all for you." She smiles and looks proud of herself as she nods over the room, approvingly.

At that moment I want to leap at her throat. Make her feel every ounce of pain or fear that kids in all districts feel. Even the richest family from District 1 has nothing compared to what is considered normal in the capital. Plus if this is the kind of people the capital produce, they don't deserve any of the glory.

At that moment, I feel what have I got to lose? Nothing. Why should I have to impress this lady. She's nothing more than a brainwashed slave taking part in an annual act of sadism. Once more I stare at her to make her feel small.

What happens next I don't anticipate. It's as if all I can think about is a way to make her feel sorry. Maybe that isn't even the best thing to do during this situation, but I'm overcome with my mischievous side. I leap up into her face and hiss.

The mortified look on her face makes me regret none of it. In fact I feel the satisfaction run through my veins. We all stand there in silence for a moment. I realize how strange what I just did was and stand there thinking about what comes next. Natasha is taken aback in disgust. And when I look over at Evan I see something I didn't think was possible. He's laughing. His laugh is light, and fun. Even though I don't even know him, when I hear that kind of laugh it can't help but make the situation more care free and tolerable. I can't remember the last time I heard someone laugh. I can't remember the last time I laughed.

I'm going into the Hunger Games, I could use some laughter. Something warm and fun. Something that momentarily makes you forget. And in truth the whole situation is hysterical. I deserve to be hysterical.

So I laugh with him. We laugh about it all. Tears brew in my eyes and I struggle to catch my breath because the laughter comes so steadily. God knows where Natasha went. Or what will happen next. But it's okay. Laughing makes me feel as if I'm doing something right. Laughing with somebody I don't know. Somebody I probably will never know. Somebody who I might even have to kill within a week.

After a while regular thoughts start to pour into my head again. Abruptly I stop laughing and realize how foolish I must look. Evan realizes I stopped and looks at me, his eyes now the same stony ones I saw in the reapings. His face back to it's withered and tired looking features.

The fun has ended and I have to leave. I don't know what to do but run. So I run. I run past car after car on the never ending train to the capital. Each car has it's own stylish theme. In District 5 there was no such thing as a theme or design for a room. A room was a room. It was for shelter and practicality. Themes are not practical.

I kept running until I was at the car that must be my room. It looked like it was made to be charming. Everything was District 5 themed. The walls had pictures of Dams, and the abundant amount of pillows that were displayed on my bed had the number five all over them. It all stunned me. It was like the capital was smothering me with the fact I would probably never go home again. I fell to the sickly lush carpet below me. When I tapped my feet against it all I heard was dull thuds. I hate carpet.

I hate this train. If they wanted to make me feel at home the bed wouldn't have ten pillows on it. There wouldn't be paintings on the walls. The dresser shouldn't be made of some expensive stone. And no carpet. I think most people of District 5 would laugh at the silly thought of carpet. More to clean.

I sit on the floor, eyeing the carpet in disgust. I still don't feel like facing Natasha, or even Evan. I guess I'm just illogically stubborn. Sure I'm hungry, but it's not like I've never had a decent meal. I know for some kids from the lower districts, the food is probably all they think about once there in capital custody. But my family does pretty well, and it's a rare occasion when I miss a meal.

I figure somebody is bound to knock on my door at some point. So I just wait for them. Enjoying my time by myself. It feels like a relief. I wish there was books in my room. That sounds pretentious, but I really just like reading. It's a distraction. Everybody likes to be distracted some time.

When I hear a knock on the door I expect it to be Natasha, and prepare myself for her. The door opens and a tiny woman with a short brown bob, dressed in all black comes through the door. When I see her face I immediately recognize her as Kristen, victor of the 72nd Hunger Games from District 5. "Hello." Her voice is calm.

"Um, hi." I utter. My voice sounds quiet and weak compared to her's.

"We'd appreciate it, if you join us for dinner." She stares at me with patience.

"We?" I groan. I don't feel like discussing my interview angle with ten other capital fans at dinner.

"Yes. Evan, Natasha, Richard, and I." Richard must be Evan's mentor. He's the victor of the 61st Hunger Games.

It couldn't hurt to eat. And there's something about Kristen. She feels like the only person besides Evan that isn't going to congratulate me for being picked.

"Okay." I say, almost as quiet as a whisper. She smiles softly. I stand up and begin to follow her.

We walk in silence until we reach the dinner car. After just the sound of us walking, Kristen's voice shocks me. "You best apologize to Natasha." She whispers with a slight wink.

I feel the color rise in my cheeks. _Already my mentor thinks I'm some immature, child._ I think. How could I've done that earlier. If for even one moment in the games I lose my patience and do something stupid like that, it could cost me my life.

As if reading my mind, Kristan smiles. "It's okay. Trust me I've wanted to do a lot worse to her." She says with a devious look in her eyes.

When we reach the dining car I see everybody else is already there. This makes me feel embarrassed because back in District 5 it's not considered polite to keep people waiting. But who knows how things are done in the capital. Maybe it's not cool to be on time.

"Nice of you to join us." Natasha's voice rings. It's funny how Natasha thinks she's so much grander and important than me, when really she's probably only ten years older than me.

My eyes narrow at her, and I resist the urge to strangle her long giraffe like neck. "Yes. And I am dearly sorry about earlier." I spit out.

"I know it might've appeared rude to you." I continue. "But actually in District 5 hissing in the face of somebody new is a way of welcoming them." Laughter rises in the back of my throat.

Natasha scrunches her face in confusion. Then she seems to comprehend what I just said and nods. "Okay, you're forgiven. I didn't know that was custom of District 5." She says now smiling at me, like we're best friends.

I look around the table and notice the others all nodding at each other, holding back the contagious air of laughter that's spreading around, like the butter on our bread.

I have to admit the meal is absolutely delicious. Sure I'm a well fed kid, but nobody in my family can cook like this. There's two beautifully roasted chickens with a thick gravy sauce. A dish with potatoes that are mashed to look like puffs of white glazed in butter and salt. Cooked carrots and beans are assorted on steaming plates. To drink, sugary drinks that fizz up with different kinds of syrup are offered as well.

I eat rather slowly, carefully tasting teaching bite. But when I glance at Evan across the table I see him shoveling down his meal, like at any moment the food will disappear. God knows when he's last eaten a full meal.

The silence of our meal is comforting. After all it seems as if the hush of silence has always been my best friend. That's why I'm momentarily startled when I hear Kristen's voice.

"We should watch the reapings after dinner." She says, her gaze now serious and fixed on me. "Okay," I automatically reply. I don't think I could even think about arguing with somebody like Kristen. After all she is going to be my ticket to survival in a about a week.

"That sounds absolutely wonderful." Natasha adds. She looks around the table eagerly, and claps her hands together. I resist the urge to roll my eyes by biting into a piece of chicken. "One of my personal favorite parts of the games is getting to see all the tributes for the first time." At this point it's all too nauseating, and I can't resist my urge any more.

"If you love meeting tributes so much, maybe you can fight against them for your life instead of me." I fire at her. Her face instantly saddens like a wounded puppy. "Why can't you two, ever allow me to have a little fun." She whines like a toddler.

That's when I hear Evan get up from the table. Everybody's eyes are instantly drawn towards him, but before a word is spoken he's already run off. And with that, the rest of dinner is stung with silence.

**Hope you enjoyed Chapter 3! I'm already starting Chapter 4, and am excited to introduce the other tributes. Make sure to tell me what you think so far in the reviews. I greatly appreciate the reviews I've gotten so far.**


End file.
